Mickey Blue Eyes
by vivienneandfred
Summary: Look at you, Remus, you look like sh*t. The first chapter is quite deceptive, and this makes more sense the further you read. So just give it a chance, please. SBRL.
1. Hooded eyes, they droop and die

* * *

DISCLAIMER: i own nothing. j k rowling owns everything.

* * *

The grunts, the moans, the giggles, the hormones. They swam over him, over them both. They mingled with each other, toes pointed down, and noses lifted up. He grunted, and heard Remus echo him. They moved together but their rythyms were unmatched. Unequal. It just added to the effect.

* * *

Arch back, grind down, offer more of yourself. Pull hair, squeeze thigh, knead muscle. Electric.

* * *

Bone meets fingertip as my left hand travels south from his sweaty head. Pause. Hesitation. Continue. I can feel his arse now, bony and yet it feels like muscle.

* * *

This wasn't right. This wasn't how it felt. No. Remus was skinny, sure, they both were, but normally muscle covered bones, and defined limbs and abdomen.

Remus seemed to be fading.

He wanted to stop it. It felt wrong now, because he knew something was not right with Remus. But Sirius could hear Remus' guttural moans and knew he couldn't deny him.

And maybe it was nothing?

And so, nails sunk into Remus' inadequately fleshy thigh, they came together in a violent jutting of hipbones and curling of feet.

* * *

Sirius lay comfortably on top of Remus. But he wasn't comfortable. It wasn't right. It shouldn't feel like this. He could feel their ribs pressing together, and it was painful; his own were bending inwards due to the angle of Remus'.

* * *

And as he thought about it, and traced his rough fingers over Remus' jaw and lips and cheeks and eyes, he noticed that his cheeks felt more sunken, the cheekbones more pronounced.

He opened his eyes and rested his chin on Remus' bony chest. He examined his face. The worn-out expression was no surprise after their session, but the utter exhaustion spread across that faintly lined, sleeping face was unfathomable. That was not from sex. Sirius still felt as if he could run a marathon; well, as much of a marathon as he could have run before the sex.

* * *

Eyes. Bags, paper, recycled, new, old, familiar and yet they haunted him now. Was it the lighting or did they seem darker?

* * *

Remus was dreaming, his dark eyelashes quivered in evidence of that. But what was running across his mind, playing in his thoughts. What was Remus Lupin thinking?

* * *

His collarbones were jutting out and the ribs in his chest were more visible than Sirius ever remembered them being. The tattoo from his registration looked as though it had stretched in its place over his sternum, as if there wasn't enough there to flesh it out. And he felt the uncomfortable pressure of his own ribs against Remus'; his hip bones and knobbly knees.

Sirius shifted his legs so a knee parted Remus' thighs. He played with Remus' feet, hooking their ankles together and rubbing his feet against Remus' legs. His fingers rubbed Remus' shoulders and chest. And then he pulled himself up on elbows either side of Remus' stark waist, letting the white sheet fall to the base of his spine, stretched himself impossibly forward and grazed his lips and teeth roughly against Remus' smooth, pink lips, inciting a small sound from the sleeping one.

As he stirred, Remus lifted his head quickly and they bumped heads blindingly. Sirius didn't mind, Remus was looking at him, eyes gluey from the remnants of his nap.

* * *

He had his full attention.

* * *

Sirius looked in those eyes, stormy instead of gleaming with pleasure, dull instead of bright with love, hooded instead of open to him. He spoke up.

'Remus, I know you're skinny but this isn't like you. Where have you gone? Where have you disappeared?' and as he saw the blank stare close off Remus' eyes, he repressed a sigh. 'What are doing to yourself?'

* * *

He sounded angrier now, but his voice was weakened with worry, breaking in places and ruining any effect of demand in his tone. His hands clutched desperately at the hair shrouding the back of Remus' neck.

* * *

Remus felt ill. He felt that natural high dripping off him into the mussed sheets. He felt that familiar, customary low seeping into his flesh, pricking his skin and dousing him in a cold that felt unnatural, and made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

His neck was stiff now.

His back ached.

His lips were sore and bruised.

His mind was closed.

He felt nothing.

* * *

'I'm not trying to be selfish and make this about me, but Remus if I have done something, said anything to upset you, please tell me. And if not just tell me what it is, so I can tell you it'll be okay. I can't tell you that unless you speak to me; which you never do anymore. You never talk to me, not really, you don't eat and you never sleep.'

* * *

Pause.

Thankful.

Oh, wait, there's more.

* * *

'In fact, that isn't true, is it? You sleep after sex. You sleep after having sex with me; after I fuck you, or you fuck me, or we rut like fucking animals. You sleep then.

'Shit. That's why you have been wanting it more and more. Sex. Me. You wanted some sleep.

'Look at you, Remus, you look like shit. You need to fuck someone just to get some kip. And I don't know why the fuck you do. I don't have a fucking clue what is going on in your head. You shut me out. Always have, to be honest.

'Remus for fuck's sake, look at me you absolute arse! I fucking love you and you won't even give me the courtesy of your attention!'

Remus had finally closed his eyes; pressed them together painfully tight and had tilted his head as far back as it would go, exposing his neck and shielding his face from Sirius.

He remained stock still, as did Remus, until Sirius felt that shivering which told him that Remus was suppressing something awful, not letting him in. Not letting go.

* * *

AUTHOR: please let me know if this something i ought to continue or do i give up now?


	2. Mickey don't stop, don't fade, just stay

DISCLAIMER; i own nothing. jk rowling owns everything.

* * *

I hope you know I love you. I hope you know this isn't about you. I hope you understand why I cannot love you anymore. I hope you realise I am not strong enough anymore. I hope you don't try and help, even though I know I am hoping in vain. But I really hope you fail to help me, because I really don't want to be here anymore.

* * *

It would sit in my stomach, my mind buzzing and I'd hate myself. I hate it. Get it out of me.

But no.

Don't bother; a punishment for my weakness. I don't even understand myself, I know it isn't good.

It would sit in my stomach, and I would feel it in there; creeping into my blood; corrupting my tissues; polluting my insides; polluting myself.

Impure.

Vile.

Filth.

It would sit in my stomach, and I know. I know just what would happen.

Wait.

Do I?

I think I just lied.

I haven't a clue what it would do. I just know I can't let it happen. I know it would be bad. I know I can't let it happen. I know it can't be good. I know I can't let it happen.

It would sit in my stomach, as I seal my lips.

No more, I say, no more.

I know I should and I know I probably could but at the same time I know I won't.

Watch me eat, no don't.

Just watch me.

Just watch Me.

Nothing but me and myself.

Imperfect.

To the bone.

* * *

'But you don't understand,' Remus told him with a tiresome sigh to his tone, 'I'm not trying to lose weight. I don't want to be this skinny; I have never liked my body. And it isn't about my body in any way.'

'Well fine, I will accept that you are not trying to look like a skeleton, even though you are succeeding at that. What I will not accept is you claiming that this isn't about your body. It very much is; I can see that. I can feel it.

'Moons, you're trying to disappear. I know you are, and you know it, too. You hate your body in more than just the vain sense. You hate what you're body does, and you hate that you cannot control it. I know control is your thing, your essence.

I know it breaks you – losing it. It breaks me, too, if you hadn't noticed.

'I do think there is more to it than that, though, and this is where you can lend me some answers. Because I am close to tears with this frustration I have building up inside of me. I truly don't know why you hate yourself this much. I truly don't know where I went wrong but obviously I failed somewhere along the way in trying to protect you.

'I guess love can't save everything.'

'Love isn't always the answer,' Remus deadpanned.

'No, I suppose not,' Sirius replied with no emotion. He wanted to give up. He wanted to, and yet he really, really didn't. He felt so annoyed at Remus for being so awkward, so seemingly uncaring. That always led to him feeling like shit, however, because he remembered that Remus was the fucked up one here, and should therefore not need to show how he appreciated Sirius. At these nasty times, Sirius' love and comfort and care was expected, not appreciated, and not necessarily returned.

Sirius just wanted to know what to do, so he could say the magic words to Remus and everything would be normal, and his best friend would not be wasting himself in front of Sirius' tired eyes.

Why was all this shit happening? Where the fuck had it come from? Why did Remus only push him away?

One day, Remus would push too far, and Sirius knew that he would just give up caring. Give up on him. And then who would be left for him? Sirius felt sick as a light bulb in his head flickered on and off behind his eyes;

'Remus, why are you not going home for Christmas?' and immediately it became apparent that this question held the many clues to Remus' actions because the look on Remus' face, if only for the split second before his mask covered it, looked absolutely sickened, and so desperately abandoned.

'What the hell is going on, Remus? Where are your parents?' Sirius demanded, panicky tingles flashing hot red up his arms and throat, and a nausea of understanding slowly completing him.

'I don't know,' and Remus could not have sounded more casual, more uncaring, more detached. It was as if Sirius had only asked him iwhether he knew or not if he was wearing maroon socks today, it was as if the matter didn't require much thought, or interest, from him.

The pause before he had spoken told a lot, though. It told of his immense struggle to remain impassive in appearance to Sirius. It told him that Remus was close to the edge of a meltdown of spirit and mind.

'I know how this feels, Remus, so for goodness sake don't hide from me. Say it. You need to say it.'

'I cannot recall to what you are referring, but I am not feeling any particular way. I am just feeling the same feelings I always feel. I am no different. I have not changed. I am just the same Remus, the same as I have been since I was four. Nothing has happened. Nothing has changed. I am exactly the same. I have done nothing different. I never said anything to them. I never did anything to them. Not anything I haven't done numerous times before, nothing new, in any case. I am the same as I have always been. I have in no way done anything remotely different to what I do most everyday. I feel no different than yesterday, or last year. I feel the same. I am the same. I am the same. I am the same. I am the same. I am the same –'

Sirius wanted to stop Remus from tearing at the skin of his arms but something held him back. Something made him just watch as Remus self-destructed in front of him. Perhaps that he had never seen this from Remus, or perhaps that in some way he thought he needed this breakdown. Or perhaps he was just shocked beyond himself to be able to process enough thought to move. Or breathe.

* * *

I hope you you know I am a monster. And I am not worth you.


	3. Go on, eat it, eat it all

DISCLAIMER; i own nothing. jk rowling owns everything.

* * *

It happened every time they had to sit down to a meal. Eventually Remus just gave up attending them, but before that, he found many tricks to tide the time between sitting down in the Great Hall, and exiting it again.

At first, he just thought of it as a loss of appetite, and called it thus. And no one questioned it. And when he realised that that excuse was growing tired, even on himself, and he realised he simply didn't want to eat, he began to make things up. Excuses. Lies. And he hated it, to begin with, but he just couldn't help himself. He felt dirty for lying, but knew he would feel dirtier if he actually put any crap in his mouth.

Remus liked water. No shit in water; with the exception of loo water, of course.

'I'm not feeling well; Peter, you just put me off my dinner; it's simply too early for my stomach; I grabbed something from the kitchens earlier, I was starving; I'm just not hungry.'

His best, though, was distraction. That was where he became truly clever, and gifted in the art of conversation. He would simply strike up a debate; a topic of which he knew would get a rise from his clueless friends, and push the food around on his plate. He would raise his fork every so often, and then subtly place it back down, still full. He would squash what he could into the plate so it looked like a smaller volume, and he cut everything up into tiny pieces. When no one was looking, he would slip a piece of toast, or a sausage, onto the floor, or a napkin, or his lap. He even dared a few times to slip food onto James or Peter's plates when their attentions had drifted. It became so easy, but he felt so low, so dirty for lying to his friends, that it all became too much, and he realised he just had to avoid it completely.

He began sleeping late, refusing to get up even through the force of his marauding roommates. He spent evenings in the library studying, claiming to eat in the kitchens beforehand. And lunchtimes he strayed on long walks or conversations with professors. He even made sure to get lunchtime detentions just for the sake of another excuse.

He made appearances in the Great Hall, for appearances sake, every so often. He hoped it was enough. And he truly thought it was.

It became so easy. He thought.

And little did he know they were noticing. Had noticed a long time ago, but were too confused and surprised and unsure as to what to do that they said and did nothing. Until they could really notice the weight loss; his drawn face with sharp cheekbones and jutting collarbones, and those ribs. Then they began scheming, and wondering, and planning an intervention of some sort.

* * *

'Rem, we know.' Those two words – we know – words of the devil, were just too much for him. and he ran. He ran to HHHogsmeade for a day or so. But he came back sheepishly with his tail between his legs when he realised he could not give up his education just for the luxury of not eating.

'Please don't make me. Not that shit. I cannot stomach it, any of it.'

'but you must, or you'll waste away even further. Look at you, you're nearly invisible. Almost already gone. There isn't anything left of you.'

'Then let me disappear.'

'I'm afraid I cannot do that.'

'Why the bloody hell not?'

'Moony, have you ever heard of a term known commonly as love?'

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, you know; infinite and intense affection towards another being. All that shit.'

A blank stare.

'It's what I bloody feel for you, you ninny.'

Comprehension, admiration, passion.

'But I really cannot bear to touch it, let it even grace my lips; any of it. Please, just let me go. I need you to. I really do.'

'I wish it were that simple, and if I knew for certain that that was all that could make you happy, the perhaps I would. But no, Moons, I don't want to have to miss you. I want to have you. Don't you see, Rem? I want you. Am I not important that this obsession with starving? Am I not more important, Rem?'

'That isn't fair.'

'True, though.'

'Yes, true. But as you like to say; it isn't that simple. Being with you is as natural as breathing, but passing food between my lips is about as foreign to me as Parseltongue. I just cannot. I am not strong enough to resist myself. I really am sorry, Padfoot. I wish I could let you have me, whole.'

Blank eyes.

'Never mind, then. I will just have to have strength enough for us both.'

* * *

Go on, eat.

* * *

I really wish I could do it for you.


End file.
